


Scavenger

by Denzer



Category: Blade Runner (Movies), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Blade Runner Fusion, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Devoted Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, F/M, Happy Ending, Kylo Ren Angst, Kylo Ren Needs a Hug, Medical Procedures, POV Ben Solo, POV Kylo Ren, Possessive Kylo Ren, Protective Ben Solo, but super mild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25981102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Denzer/pseuds/Denzer
Summary: Kylo has studied Rey's file more than any other replicant on his hit-list. He's drawn to her, the lithe movement of her body as she runs from him, the sweep of her arm as she fires a round somewhere high above his head. She catches his attention, time and time again... and her bounty is the highest.It's not personal, it's his job to retire her.Hint (Itispersonal.)
Relationships: Kylo Ren & Rey, Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey & Ben Solo, Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 28
Kudos: 50
Collections: Let's Go to the Movies - Reylo Readers & Writers Prompt Exchange





	Scavenger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [prncesselene](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prncesselene/gifts).



# 

#  **Scavenger**

#  **A Blade Runner AU**

"Stop!"

He skids to a halt and holds out his hands, as if the girl is right in front of him instead of fifteen feet away, balanced precariously on the low guard-wall. She stands from her crouch and his stomach flips. The wind is picking up and the noise from the street far below them heightens and fades in sharp gusts. The girl's face is haloed by the blue hair he knows is dyed from chestnut brown. Her file might be incomplete, but he has studied that face. The neon sign behind her flickers, a hum in the darkness as it stutters out again.

"I just wanna talk, Rey."

She balances on one slender leg, shifts her foot in a wavering pirouette so her back is to him on the thin outcropping of crumbling stonework. She'd holstered her weapon when she'd leaped onto the wall, but she'll never make the jump to the next roof; the gap between the buildings is far too wide. When she looks down at the street, the neon sign bursts to life behind her, pink light on the bare skin of her shoulder, gleaming off the gun strapped to her thigh.

"Why me?" she turns her head a fraction, the tip of her nose and the side of her cheek outlined magenta, "Why is it always me you follow? Never Finn. Never Rose. Always me. Why?"

He doesn't respond, stays entirely still, afraid to spook her in case she loses her balance. If she'd just step away from the edge so she's not teetering there, centimeters from falling, he could concentrate more easily. He watches the muscles of her thighs work as she shifts her weight from foot to foot. The sign blacks out and she arches her neck as if she's genuinely interested in his response and not just stalling for more time. But the truth is he doesn't know. He just follows her, every time. He’s drawn to the flash of her hair, the lithe movement of her body as she runs from him, the sweep of her arm as she fires a round somewhere high above his head. She catches his attention, time and time again. And her bounty is the highest, apart from Luke's.

"It's my job. It's not personal."

Her eyes fall closed and she raises a hand to press at her chest. When she tips her head back, the neon glitters back to life behind her and the peak of her trembling chin is bathed in coral.

"Ben."

It's a whisper, an elongated breath, thrown at the heavy roll of cloud-cover. It's filled with some emotion that makes the hairs stand on his arms and neck. She moves fast and sudden, splaying her arms wide, and he knows what she’s about to attempt. He runs at her, sprints across the gritty roof, hands reaching and lips pulled back. He's not sure what he's yelling. It might be "No." It could be her name. Either way, it's a plea.

She falls, tips forward with a push that throws her legs in a high arc. Her feet disappear behind the roofline and the neon sign stutters back to darkness as he reaches the place where she'd been standing. He drops to reach after her, though he's far too late to catch her. His chest pulses, a beat of panic, over and over.

Three floors below him, a spinner is hovering. She's crouched on its roof, holding the frame of the door as it lifts open for her. Her hand is raised to her brow, staring back at him as if there is sunlight in her eyes, hair whipping at her wrist. She makes no move to leave, despite the distant sound of the back-up he'd called when he'd trailed her through Animoid Row. 

Through the spinner's glass panel he thinks he can make out Finn, a security skin-job escaped from the Turnhäuser Gate colony and top of his hit-list. He's gesturing wildly at her to get in the cab. Still, she watches him, like she's waiting for something. There is pain in his chest, squeezing. He rubs at it with the heel of the hand that's holding the gun. He's not pointing it. Her files are incomplete. The Voight-Kampff test is imperative, he thinks, as the girl swings into the seat and the door lowers over her. He can't retire her until he's certain she's a replicant.

The spinner blasts forward, racing toward the Wastes.

She called for Ben. Whoever that is, whoever her thoughts run to when she thinks she might die, Kylo hates him. He signals the drone.

"Follow them. Stream the coordinates."

This time, he won't let her go.

*  *  *  *  * 

Even in the darkness, the dust throws an ochre gleam. Everything illuminated in his hovercycle headlamps is tinged with the decay. Out here, in the Wastes, he should be wearing protective gear. He knows this is against protocol. He should not be following her.

It's the name she'd called out, the pull it caused in his chest when she said it. It's familiar but there are no known replicants on the hit-list under that moniker. Someone new.

He should call it in. Technically, he needs Snoke's approval to proceed. He might have been designed to withstand the acid winds, but exposure can still damage his body and Snoke Industries disapproves of unnecessary maintenance.

He follows the drone's flight path, trailing the spinner through the desert until it stops, abruptly pulling up at the lip of the dead-zone. He hangs back off the main strip of bared earth at the foot of an ancient effigy. Around him, empty buildings tower in faded grandeur, their wealth and status lost to time. He's an ant crawling over dead titans. He follows on foot, boots crunching in the dirt.

The drone has settled outside the ornate doors of a darkened pyramid. It's hollowed out but, even in the darkness, he can see the remains of an age-old battle. Looters, rioters, desperate grooves etched into ornate spirals of metal and stone. The drone indicates motion in the underground floors. He sets a timer for a back-up call and presses forward.

There are statues inside too, smaller but still towering floors above him, heads disappearing in the gloom. It's nearly morning now, but even midday here will be dull. The winds will see to that. He stalks into the darkness, down stairs so wide that there are three rails set between the walls, gun held high. Distantly, as he flicks the safety off, Kylo wonders what this was before the end. A casino or a hotel? The playground of the rich who had fled off-world in the first wave.

He finds her four floors below, standing in the middle of a cavernous ballroom. She’s lit by a single point of light, like the pleasure models at Taffey's, but those don't usually cry. She doesn't say anything, just watches his approach, letting her tears drip from her chin, untamed.

"Where's your friend?"

Kylo keeps the gun trained on a point just above her left shoulder as he checks in the vast room for Finn, but he already knows they would have split up by now. That's not who he means. It's the name. The new one. The one he thinks might be important enough to warrant an unapproved tail to the opposite edge of the Wastes.

"I'm alone."

The word catches in her mouth, a strangled sob, unfamiliar and yet, affecting. Kylo wants to touch her. To put his arms around her and feel the wire of her muscles soften into him. And suddenly, even without the sharp swing of her eyes to his, without the oval warning of her lips pulled open, he knows they are anything but alone.

A trap.

He swings wildly, firing into the dark. His eyes bolt to every shadow. There is the heat of someone behind him and the scrape of a boot on worn carpet and he swerves instinctively. The sharp light of a photon sword ignites by his ear. When he turns, Kylo gets a glimpse of grey hair, black clothing, and the downturn of a mouth he would recognise a hundred times over. Rey's is not the only face he has studied.

Luke Skywalker, number one on his hit-list, swinging high.

Kylo brings the gun up, shooting while dodging the blade until he loses his balance and Skywalker lunges. He has no choice but to throw himself backward. He's down, flat on his back, the gun somewhere behind his head. His knees feel the heat of the sword as it passes, inches from bone.

"Finn! Now!"

There's dead weight slung across his chest, pressing him into the floor. A plasma-net. Fuck. He's immobilised in an instant. Skywalker leans down, blue light bathing one side of his face and shadowing the other. Kylo bares his teeth, lifting his head to growl in frustration.

"Alright kid, that's enough."

Luke's free hand reaches to press Kylo's face to the side and there's a sharp jab at his neck, the hiss of an injection. At this angle, Kylo can see her. She's still standing, bathed in her decoy light, but her shoulders are curling inward and her mouth is stretched in a wide grimace. So many months he has hunted her. She must feel such relief. When she looks up to meet his gaze, Kylo traces the tear-tracks over her freckled skin, the shine of her blue waves as she shakes her head, those pale pink lips and perfect teeth as she struggles through a sob. So beautiful, he thinks, as the sedative takes hold and his world fades around her.

*  *  *  *  * 

"Luke! Let me through! Goddammit, Luke!"

It's Rey's voice, shrieking. She's tearing through the crowded warehouse, pushing to get to them. His restraints hold fast so he can't turn his neck. He can only see her in his peripheral vision. The hands clamped on his upper arms urge him to turn in the opposite direction, toward a darkened corridor. He resists, not for her, just by force of habit.

The shock from Poe's taser-baton isn't debilitating. Kylo is REN6 generation, his modified pain receptors call for larger electrical currents, but the Rebels haven't used the higher voltage. Not even once.

"Get her out of here!" Skywalker calls to two men holding photon-rifles that flank the crowd, keeping them back. He recognises the taller one from his hit-list. Chewie, a custom skinjob with modified strength that rivals his own spec, and height that surpasses it.

"Luke! Please!" her voice is raw, shredding her throat as she struggles to breach the wall of Chewie's arms. Kylo must have retired him, this Ben she calls for at her most frightened, because her desperation to reach them is almost tangible. He ignores the hands pressing him forward, away from her, urging him into a dark hallway. His pain receptors stretch their limits as he fights the restraints to turn toward her. Simple curiosity, that's all this is. He wonders who he took from her to warrant the emotion that rips from her lungs and twists her mouth. Who did he kill?

The other faces gathered here are cold, impassive, and dark. Their eyes show their fear and revulsion, but not hers. Hers are murderous. She stretches her fingers, reaching for him, though still several feet away. Kylo steps toward her, a sideways shuffle of his feet on the concrete, craning to see more of her face.

"That's interesting," Luke's voice, slow and careful, then hard. "Put him back under."

The girl's fading cries intensify, echoing oddly as the nip in the crook of his neck spreads numb warmth through his body. The dank, pock-marked ceiling is the last thing he sees. It feels familiar.

*  *  *  *  * 

Unconsciousness ebbs and flows like C-beams, flaring and blinking out to pure darkness. The gleam of the stasis-field is a constant pressure on his open eyes. Each time he comes to, prone and unblinking, she is always there. The first time she is crying, hunched over with one hand pressed to the glass and the other clutching at her chest as if staunching a wound. Her tear-streaked face is green-tinged, the ambient glow from the holding tank. She's young, perfectly made. If he wasn't here, forced placid in the heart of a Resistance bunker, he would swear she was human.

For now, he is still Kylo: replicant, bounty hunter, Bladerunner. He is still the best at what he does. He still knows who he is. They haven't reduced him to a template yet. He wonders how much longer they will keep him in stasis, awaiting the moment of re-conditioning. Perhaps they will simply retire him. He's angry, shamed by his capture, but not afraid. He is, most definitely, not curious about the girl.

*  *  *  *  * 

She is asleep, curled up at the foot of his stasis-chamber, fingers jammed between her cheek and the glass at his knees. The downward tilt of his eyes has caused a dull ache by the time Luke and the old woman enter. The girl jumps to a stand, body tensed, and hand resting on the gun strapped to her thigh. The older couple is flanked by Finn and Poe.

"Rey, it's time." Luke's voice is soft, apologetic.

"No."

She flicks the catch of her holster but doesn't draw. Her voice is hard, low and grating. Rey turns to the older woman, grey and stooped, holding Luke's arm like standing in this room is more than she can take.

"I can reach him, Leia. I can. I swear it,"

Kylo knows who she is. His original designs flash in his memory. Leia Organa, written with the looping cursive of an actual real signature, marks made with ink on the map of his body. The driving force behind the off-world replicant rebellion. His Maker, but not the one who built him, who made him what he is.

"You're not a geneticist, Rey," Luke again, a grave and forbidding tone earning him a sidelong look from Leia. "What do you know about re-conditioning?"

"Give her a chance."

Unexpected, the authority of Leia’s voice. Kylo blinks his surprise as the woman's gaze flicks to him and then away, immediately. Rey grasps blindly for Leia's hand, her head dropping low and Kylo swears he can feel her relief, like a brand across his firing chest.

*  *  *  *  * 

The room is too bright, white walls with warped lines that seem to curve the ceiling toward him. His hands are held out, palms flat on the table, and restrained at the wrist. A band of plasmic metal straps his bare chest to the chair, and his ankles are secured to the legs. He's still trapped, but this is somewhat more comfortable than the stasis tank. The girl sits across from him, all the way at the other end of the table. She tilts the V-K readout toward him, waits until his eyes are drawn to the data, then slides it across so he can see his original Rebel Repli-tech designs alongside the co-opted production modifications of Snoke Industries. He is stolen property. Liberated tech.

If she thought this would be a surprise, she will be disappointed. Kylo knows what he is. He remembers everything. Snoke gave him eighty years on top of his original four, but then, if they retire him here, that won't matter.

He tilts his chin, looking at the slope of her shoulder as she rests her elbows on the table.

"So, am I a real boy?" he can't keep the sarcasm from his voice and she raises her eyebrows slightly, a tiny curve at the corner of her mouth, like satisfaction.

"Well, you're not imaginary."

Kylo gives her a fractional nod and counts the cameras in the room again. Three trained on him; two on her. He wonders if they are broadcasting. A Resistance prop-vid for recruitment. He'd seen several. Rey shifts forward, drawing his attention.

"Does this place seem familiar to you?"

Her eyes are glued to his, staring hard like she's seeing more than the Baseline test could tell her.

"No."

He's lying and by the narrowing of her eyes, he knows she's recognised it. Clever girl. His designs were flawlessly recorded and she's extrapolating what remains of his bio-coding as they speak. Anger, sharp and burning in his gut. It's tinged with humiliation but he's not sure why.

"You think you know me because you _read my file_?" The veins stand out in his neck as he yells. She doesn't flinch, but her eyes are glassy now and he looks away. He softens his voice, "You know everything, huh?"

She's crying again, not hiding it, not even bothering to wipe the tears away. His fingers twitch as they drip from her chin. Already, he knows he won't yell again. When she speaks her voice is barely audible.

"My blood type is AB positive. Do you feel like you know me?"

Replicant blood is O-Neg. She's human. Impossible, in this place. He feels off-balance, though he's sitting. He's fired at her, chased her, studied her incomplete file for hours. She's a replicant. She has to be. He must not be able to contain his shock because her fingers unfurl on the table and she lifts out of her seat, stretching toward him.

"Do you know me?"

Hope. That's what he's seeing. It registers the same in humans as most replicants. Kylo wonders how the muscle movements were recorded. How they were mapped so perfectly for transfer to replicant bodies.

"Do you know me, Ben?"

"No."

He whispers his response but he can’t look at her. He’s focusing on the space between his hands and his stomach squirms a little, an emotion he vaguely recognizes as anxiety. He's heard of this, replicants based on whole DNA strands, looking exactly like the person they are extracted from, sometimes even exhibiting the same mannerisms. Does he look like him? Like Ben?

"I don't know you."

Rey sits back hard in her chair, stares for what feels like minutes. When she has scanned every inch of his face, she reaches for the med-pack by her feet. She pulls it open and the action makes her hair fall forward. His fingers twitch again. She sees it, zeroes in on the movement like an Esper-machine.

The bag thuds on the table and she shoves it forward until it's between his outstretched arms. Kylo watches her follow it, crawling across the table with her forehead low and eyes tipped up to lock with his. His heart beats hard and fast. Is he afraid? Is this terror? Whatever it is, this feeling that tugs low in his gut when she looks at him that way, he's never felt it before.

"Ben," she says, when she's sitting cross-legged on the tabletop, rifling through the case for repli-adhesive and synth-skin. Anyone watching would think she was uninterested in his response but she is focused on his reaction, the hazel of her eyes visible beneath the strands of her hair. "Do you have any cuts or abrasions to the inside of your ears, nose, or mouth."

He knows this. It's a standard question. He's pre-programmed to answer it so his silence is as surprising to him as it is to her. He parts his lips, wide enough to indicate the tear on the inside of his cheek. The blood has still not stopped and when she brings a thumb to his lip, a trickle of it spills over his chin. Rey winces, moves the bag and shuffles herself forward until she's sitting where the bag had been, cross-legged between the span of his outstretched arms. His thumbs lift off the table.

"Rey," the voice is overlaid with static, as if the speakers here are older than standard Bladerunner tech. It's a warning, her name, in Luke's growling voice.

"He won't hurt me," she's holding the applicator in her left hand, "will you?"

Will he hurt her? Probably. More than likely. He should want to tear her apart. He's being re-conditioned, just waiting for the pain to start.

"No."

She smiles. It's small, the merest tilt at the corner of her lips but he looks at her cheek, eyes drawn to the tiny divot he instinctively knows will form there. It's barely a shadow.

The confusion makes him shake his head, a quick jerk that drops his hair over his eyes and another to flick it back.

"See?" she calls to the upper corner of the room, behind his head, eyes hard and mouth steamed clean of its previous amusement. Rey’s face softens when she looks back at him and she takes a breath like she’s clearing the ire from her lungs. Or the fear, perhaps.

"Open your mouth, please."

There are none of the usual bite-restraints in her grasp. No gloves. Nothing between her bare skin and his teeth. He complies, stretching his jaw as she slides her thumb along his bottom lip, dips beneath the tear his molars had driven into the flesh of his mouth when his head had slammed into the floor. She presses below the wound and he opens his throat to swallow a fresh wave of blood as she guides the adhesive applicator to the cut, presses it closed. She holds it for a few seconds. Kylo forces his hands to uncurl, tries to calm the beating he can hear swooping in his ears. He can taste her skin, feel the heat of it in his mouth. He has the urge to suck as she retracts her hand, to keep her there.

"There," she says, softly, "All better."

She's leaning forward. Her wet thumb hovers between them. He can feel her breath and he tips his chin up, expectant. He looks at her parted mouth, unsure of what he is waiting for, and his body feels heavy. Even without the restraints, Kylo is not sure he could stand with the heated weight that’s pooling in his belly.

"Ben," his eyes flick up to hers, instant and involuntary, "do you know me?"

"I'm not Ben, but you're Rey."

Cautiously, she evaluates him. Her gaze sweeps his face, burrowing, pushing at him until he feels like he might fall apart under it.

"Rey what?"

He knows this. He knows even though her file didn't have that information. He knows even though he shouldn't. He opens his mouth and her hands lift to cup his face, thumbs smoothing blood-streaked skin. Her eyes are so wide. Her lip is trembling. He knows her name.

"Rey S-"

The door opens so fast it crashes against the wall. It ricochets back and the girl in the frame stops it with the side of her fist. Poe is behind her, pushing past, and Kylo tenses for a hit. He’s owed it. He shot him less than two months ago and the skinner had barely escaped.

Rey scrambles to uncross her legs but Poe is there first. He drags her back across the table, hauls her all the way to the other side of the room, and Kylo yells, wordless and raging. Poe is touching her, holding her against him with an arm hooked around her midsection as Rey struggles to free herself. Kylo hates it, wants to tear loose, and rip those arms away from her. She's shouting, legs kicking out and elbows slamming back against his ribs. She's a fighter, but humans are no match for replicant strength.

"Rose, no!"

The girl in the doorway steps forward and dips a gun under Kylo’s chin, pushing his head so he has no choice but to look away from Rey and up to her.

"You killed my sister."

There's pain as she cracks the gun across his cheek. His head twists, knocks off the back of the chair and Rey's yell turns feral. Poe struggles to hold onto her, she squirms like a cat when the muzzle of the handgun bumps against Kylo’s forehead.

This he understands. Violence is where he is most comfortable. He keeps his expression blank and stares back. Paige, a custom pleasure model. He'd been instructed to return her to her owner for reconditioning.

"I did her a favour."

Rose's lips pull back over her teeth and Kylo closes his eyes. As he waits for her to pull the trigger, he gets that same feeling of relief that always comes when he thinks he might die. He's reviewed his bio-data so many times looking for that coding but he's never found it. It's a glitch.

Rey's shouting is laced with fear, her words backed by sobbing.

"Rose, don't do this. Please!"

Poe puts a hand over her mouth and she bites down hard. When he lets her go, pulling back to grasp his bloody palm, Rey crosses the room and drops to her knees beside his chair. She's focused on Rose, hands raised to shoulder height. Kylo can't move, the gun pressing hard to his forehead keeps the back of his head against the chair.

"Rose," she whispers, terror in the rasp of her voice.

Why is she so scared? What is he to her? He can't think straight. Not because of the weapon, that is the only thing he comprehends about this situation. Rey slowly reaches one hand to his arm, squeezes hard, and he cannot feel anything but the pressure of her touch. She shouldn't be this close to him. If Rose shoot's, she could be hit with bone fragments, the bullet might ricochet off the metal chair-back. She needs to move away.  


"What was done to him could happen to any one of you. He doesn't deserve to die for what Snoke did. Not if he can be saved. You taught me that."

Poe leans against the wall and cradles his bloodied hand in his armpit, shaking his head. His mouth is set, a hard line that barely moves when he speaks.

"Do it, Rose."

There is a brief flash of movement behind Rose and hands appear on the balls of her shoulders, a soft grip that spreads wide, soothing. The muzzle of the gun shakes and Finn leans forward to whisper something Kylo can't hear, directly into her ear. She twists away, barrel pointed at the ceiling over Finn's shoulder. He wraps his arms around her and crushes her into his chest and Rey is breathing hard, dropping forward until her brow is pressed to the back of his wrist.

"Get out. All of you."

Leia's voice comes from the doorway. She's looking at Rey, not him, but she's stiff, deliberate in her aversion. She has a stun-gun pointed at Poe and she walks into the room slowly as they file out. Rey doesn't move, sitting back on her heels to watch as Leia comes to stand at the back of his chair and releases his restraints.

He's free. He fights the urge to reach for Rey by pulling his arms into his chest, and rubbing at his reddened wrists, instead.

"What's her name?" Leia has circled to the other end of the table. For the first time, she looks at him, and Kylo shrinks back from the hard glare. "Rey - what is her full name?"

"Rey Solo."

The words come out pained, through gritted teeth, as if he's trying to hold it back. But he can't. He knows her name. Everything feels off but right all at once. The walls are too close, the room too large, so bright he has to squint in the darkness, so hot he's suppressing a shiver. What is happening?

Rey lifts her head, stares at Leia. "He couldn't have known. There's no way they have that on file."

"Agreed," Leia walks to the door, holding it open as she turns to them. "Bring him back." Kylo isn't sure which of them she is talking to but it sounds more like a plea than an order.

Rey stands suddenly, bolting up so that Leia pauses.

"Turn off the cameras."

Kylo snaps to look up at her. Her back is straight, hands loose by her sides but there is something in the set of her shoulders that makes him think there is more to this request. Her cheeks are pink and there’s an edge of desperation in the way she raises her chin.  Leia doesn't say anything, just gives a short nod and walks from the room, locking them inside with the sharp clicks of hydraulic bolts. Minutes pass in weighted silence. Neither of them move and Rey won’t meet his eye. When the quiet has gone on for so long that Kylo begins to shift uncomfortably in his seat, Leia’s voice comes over the speakers, grainy with static.

"You're alone," she tells them, and they both hear the click of the mic switching off.

Kylo is free to move but he stays seated. In his peripheral vision, he sees her waver, uncertain. She crosses her arms and then uncrosses them, takes a steadying breath. She has no weapons. She's human. He could snap her neck like a twig. What is she doing putting herself in this much danger? What could possibly be her end-game?

"Ben-"

"I don't know who that is," he interrupts her sharply, startling her. When he looks up, she's staring at him, her lower lip tucked between her teeth. He's unprepared for the hot tug that nervous gesture creates in his lower abdomen and his thoughts darken. He's alone in this room with her. No-one is monitoring them. He could take whatever he wants. Kylo has followed her for months, learned every curve of her face, watched her spin and flee from him, seen her turn her head to check if he's following. His eyes run the length of her body and whatever expression he's allowed his face to slip into draws a quick gasp from her.

She turns and walks to the other side of the room, leaning against the wall with her hands behind her back. She couldn't get any further away from him in this small space and Kylo has to fight the compulsion to follow her, to put his hands on either side of her thin shoulders and cage her inside the frame of his body. He stops rubbing his wrist and leans his elbows on the table, resting his forehead in his palms.

"What is this? What is it you want from me?"

He's talking to himself, dragging himself back from the direction his mind has taken, but she answers anyway, quiet and shaking.

"I want you to remember," She sinks down to sit on the floor and thumps her head back against the wall, legs pulled into her chest, "If you don't, Luke will have you reconditioned and you'll either lose every memory you've ever had, or you'll die. You know the percentage survival rate for reconditioning,” her voice takes a bitter tone, “But you're worth the risk."

She looks like she could spit fire. Instead, she balls her hands into fists and stands again, moving with determination. She drags the chair around the table until it's next to his, with a scraping screech of metal on tile that sets his teeth on edge.

He's watching her, keeping his expression blank, ignoring the questions that are building up in his mind or the sudden uncanny knowledge that she will sit with one leg tucked underneath her and lay her forearms one over the other on the tabletop. She does exactly this and another chip in his surety cracks in confusion. He's never seen her sit this way, none of the file images had shown her in this position but he knows her movements instinctively, like an echo.

A strand of blue hair has come loose from her hair, curling over her cheek. This time, he doesn't stop himself. He reaches slowly across the table and tucks it behind her ear. She freezes but allows it and there is a swell in his chest that ends with a tug of some emotion he can't quite place.

"What do you want me to remember?"

He's leaning forward, voice soft and confused, and she tips toward him so her ribs press into the table edge. He's close enough to see her freckles, the ones he'd used the Esper to zoom in on, memorising them. Her lashes are still wet, spiked and glistening. Her mouth has opened slightly, the white of her bottom teeth just visible. She's stopped frowning, eyes flitting to his mouth and back.

"What?" He leans forward more, so close he can't see her reaction, just hear the stutter of her breath and the movement of her throat as she swallows. It would be so easy to inch forward and kiss her, but he stays still and breathes in the scent of her skin, waiting for her to answer him. He's about to ask again when her chin tips up and her lips brush off his. He's so shocked that he holds still, lets her press gently at his bottom lip, the corner of his mouth and then, as if she has broken something inside herself and lost all reason, she surges forward. When he feels her tongue, tastes her, he lifts out of his seat, pushing her back into her chair and bringing a hand to the back of her neck so he can angle her jaw where he wants it.

He can admit this now, how often he's thought of her this way. Of how she'd sigh into his mouth, of how her hands would press his chest, how she'd curl her fingers and trace his skin with haphazard patterns. There's a place she likes to be kissed, just beneath her jaw, it makes her sigh, every time. He moves his lips there, and she gives him that name again, with a breath.  _ Ben _ .

He kicks his chair back, pulls away from her with a snarl. She doesn't flinch but her eyes clamp shut, squeezing tears onto her cheeks.

"I don't know who that-"

"You do!"

She shouts it first, but then whispers it again and again and Kylo is oddly afraid of the strange trance she slips into. He slaps the table in front of her to get her to look at him and when she opens her eyes, more tears fall. Why is she crying? What can he do to make it stop?

"You remember, even now. I can help you. I can help you remember all of it."

He wants to pace, but instead, he's stuck there, leaning over the table, caught in her glassy, pleading gaze.

"There's a word you need to remember. It's a failsafe. We bio-coded it when we found out what Snoke wanted with you. It was a risk, Luke wanted to blank your memory with this same command. But we wouldn't let him. We never thought you'd get caught. You were always so strong, so fast… but he couldn't have taken everything because you know my name. You know me, you just don't remember. And that means he only over-wrote your memory bank; he didn't wipe it."

Ben is squinting at her. Nothing makes sense but he believes her, or at least, he knows there is something to this. There are things he associates with her when he has no reason to. Lemons in a bowl, green plants, the smell of vanilla. He used to think it a glitch, the way he'd let her go, over and over. The way he couldn't retire her unless he had an up to date VK report. But memory tampering, he's sure that's impossible. He can clearly recall his inception, Snoke cupping his gel-slicked face and whispering of how Kylo was prized, valued, how he would help bring order to things.

He shakes his head and Rey wraps her fingers around his wrists, pushing his hands into the table, as if she'd known he was about to turn away from her.

"It's one word, Ben, one word. But you have to remember it on your own, you have to bring it to the surface and the coding will filter in from there. It has to come from you, it's protected by firewalls that Leia spent weeks building. You're the only one who can unlock it."

She's begging, fingers squeezing, voice barely above a whisper and he swears he can hear the thump of her heart. But none of that is helping, he can't think of any particular word that would have meaning for him. He pulls away and she's up, following him across the room, hands raised as if she's about to grab his arm. She doesn't and when he turns back to her, she takes a step back.

He rakes a hand through his hair, frustrated.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he tells her, irritation sharpening his voice again but this time, she doesn't react. She steps closer, a challenging purse of her lips, and that frown he's so familiar with back in place.

"I know you can do this," she tells him, "You can. I'll help you."

It's a trick, something she has said before with that exact same intensity but he can't remember where he's heard her say it. He's spinning with the idea that his memories aren't his own, trying to find gaps, to think of each section of his life since Snoke woke him. Ten years he's been a Blade Runner, ten years he's fought for earth's security and safety. He's not who she thinks he is.

"Ben, please, try- "

He cuts her off with a growl, grabs her arms, and spins until she's against the wall and he's staring down into her upturned face. He kisses her because he doesn't know what else to do. He's rough, far rougher than before, and she stiffens in his arms. He fully expects her to push him away when she brings her hands up, to slap him even. But she doesn't. She threads her fingers into his hair with a helpless sound that goes straight to his groin. He presses against her, crowding her against the wall, slipping his hands down her body to hoist her legs up around his waist.

It's familiar. The curve of her in his palms, the pressure of her hands on his shoulders as she steadies herself, the lap of her tongue against his, the scrape of her teeth on his lip. It's familiar. Kissing her comes naturally with no awkward testing of what the other likes. She's doing what he likes right now, sucking his lip briefly and then lifting her chin so he can bring his mouth to her neck. He's pulsing into her, pressing hard, and Rey makes a noise that’s both a sigh and a sob. That name again, caught there like mourning.

He shudders, leans his forehead into her shoulder, and wishes he could be the man she's searching for.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles into her skin and she pulls his head back to look in his face.

"You know this, Ben. You do. It's what you call me, the name you gave me when you recruited me. You found me on Animoid Row, mending runaways. I had no license, I learned to do it myself. You found me and you knew I could help the Resistance. I could fix replicant damage with so little equipment. Just things I found or bought at scrap-"

She cuts herself off and squeezes her eyes again.

"Please remember, please."

She's clinging to him so hard that he could take his hands away and she wouldn't fall. He turns in place and slides down the wall, pulling her into his lap with a hand at the back of her head that presses until she's tucked into his neck. Another familiar act that tugs in his chest.

Rey's hands are scrolling over him, down his arms and into his hair and back again and it’s soothing, this touch that asks so much but so little. Just one word.

"I can't, Rey. I'm sorry. I'm not who you think I am."

She cracks, he can almost hear it. Her body curls inward and she tucks her arms between them, pressing her own chest. He hears her mumble something he can't make out and when he doesn't respond, she lifts her head and stares at him, lips pulled down at the corners.

"I love you, Ben."

Simple words. Not ones he'd ever expected to hear. He's a skin-job, incapable of that emotion, not programmed with it and therefore, unable to create it. He breathes hard and looks at the ceiling. Whoever she hopes he is, this person she is so desperate to bring back, she's got the wrong man.

"I'm sorry, scavenger."

She draws in a breath, sharp and loud, and there's a sudden, agonizing pain in his left eye. He jerks his hand to cover it, leaning down until the crown of his head thumps her chest. He thinks he might be shouting but the pain is so blinding that all his senses are malfunctioning. He can't hear, can't feel anything but the fire that's racing through his head. There's the smell of something burning.

Rey pulls away from him, extricating herself from the curl of his body and running across the room to slap her hands on the door. Ben can hear her screaming but he can't make out the words. He's fallen on his side without her weight to keep him upright. His knees are jerking, arms flailing and there's blood in his mouth.

A black boot blocks his vision and two large hands push his shoulder roughly until he's looking up into Luke's grizzled face. Ben curls his fingers over his temples, pushing at them as the pain ebbs. He squints hard, eyes flicking between Luke and his wife, who’s standing over them with her arms wrapped around her ribs like she’s holding them together. 

“Rey?” he calls, then reaches for Luke’s arm, “Uncle?”

**Author's Note:**

> This one nearly killed me - I wrote no less than seven versions before I smooshed them all together into this hybrid right here. I tore my hair out and cried a bit before [RedRoseWhite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedRoseWhite) encouraged me to keep going and now I'm really hopeful that [prncesselene](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prncesselene/pseuds/prncesselene) will like the story. 
> 
> For anyone that reads this that has no idea what Blade Runner is or what this story is about, I applaud you for getting to the end and here is what you need to know:
> 
> Blade Runners are police bounty hunters that retire (kill) replicants (clones that are used for off-world slave labour). They use Voight-Kampff tests to determine whether someone is a replicant and a Baseline test to see if they are stable. Some replicants are engineered with false human memories, in some cases, even believing they _are_ human, but how their emotions make them act is a massive theme and in both movies the replicants (rightfully) rebel against their human makers and strive to live a real, love-filled, life. 
> 
> I took a liberty here and made it so that Snoke took Ben hostage and retro-actively overlaid fake memories on top of his real ones so he would think he'd been a Blade Runner all his life, when in fact, it has only been a few months. Snoke had to allow for seepage of some knowledge so that Ben would instinctively know where to hunt for the Rebels. It was supposed to be his greatest achievement and the end to the replicant rebellion (and yes, Leia did indeed design Ben to lead the uprising and treated him like a "real boy", like her son.) But Snoke had not counted on Rey, Ben's human wife, who is basically the Rebel doctor, being the failsafe that would counteract any hacks. 
> 
> For the love of god, if you are a Blade Runner super-fan, please don't @me because I am numb to it at this stage and will cry artistic license like a mantra! :-) So with all that in mind, please be kind in the comments! ha!
> 
> Massive thanks to the wonderful [nixcomix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nixcomix/pseuds/nixcomix) for going through this with a fine tooth comb (I really mean she spotted EVERYTHING and fixed it right up) and to [GodspeedRebels](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GodspeedRebels/pseuds/GodspeedRebels) for giving such lovely feedback and soothing my tortured little writer-brain.
> 
> As always, thanks a million for reading and please come say hi on Twitter [@DenzerWriter](https://twitter.com/DenzerWriter)


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